


Good friends are like stars. You don't always see them, but you always know they're there.

by TheImpossibleDetectivesAngel



Category: Trainspotting (Movies)
Genre: And he loves Mark too, Begbie's an asshole, Despite all the shit they've done to each other, Even if he did steal from you, Ficlet, Gen, M/M, Other, Precious Spud, Simon and Mark love each other, Slight Mark/Simon if you squint, Spud is a sweetheart, They're best friends, Trainspotting 2: T2, You don't try and kill your friend, i'll stop now, protecting each other, they do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 18:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18922501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImpossibleDetectivesAngel/pseuds/TheImpossibleDetectivesAngel
Summary: It hurts. He can't breathe. He always knew Franco was a fucking psychopath, but this is extreme. He may have been crazy, but Begbie is his friend. Was. Not anymore. As he hangs here, choking out his last few pitiful fucking breaths, Mark Renton realises something. He doesn't want to be Franco Begbie's friend. He wants to be Spud and Simon's friend. And, most importantly, he doesn't want to die. Not like this.





	Good friends are like stars. You don't always see them, but you always know they're there.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched Trainspotting for the first time a few months ago because I am studying it for my film A-Level. To my immense surprise, I liked it! So I watched the sequel. And I liked that even more. And now I ship Simon and Mark. And I love the true friendship between Mark, Simon and Spud. It's fricking adorable! Now, I am not going to write this in phonetic Scottish, because I get a headache just from reading it! However, I will include it in the characters speech. So, enjoy my random little ficlet. That's all. Bye!

The floor falls. As he falls with it, Mark feels weightless. Like a small bird in flight, free from everything. Except he isn't. A wire coils around his throat - a snake choking it's prey. He can vaguely hear Begbie moving around, talking, but the blood rushing in his ears drowned out everything else. He wondered if Simon and Spud had got away. He knew Franco had got in some good hits, but Mark hoped that his friends were alright. Friends. People he loved, people he cared about. Because, although it may shock people, Mark Renton did genuinely love his friends. He loved Spud, with his endless optimism and sweet smile, and kindness for everyone even when he was high. He loved Simon, with his wild schemes, and lack of care for society and his fucking horrendous drug habit. He had, at one point, even loved Begbie to some degree, even though the cunt had done nothing to deserve it. He was, after all, a friend, and if Mark had been guilty of anything when he was young and naïve and had first made friends with all the lads, it was that he had decided that he loved them all far too quickly.  
  
They were his friends, his best mates in all the world. Especially Simon. He had loved Simon best. Still did. Despite the fact that they screwed each other over countless times, he was the best friend Mark had ever had. They had been so very close - as Simon had reminded him when he was trying to extort money, they'd shared their first sexual encounters with the same girl. They blamed each other for robberies, bought their first shot of heroin together, got drunk together for the first time. He knew he was wrong to do what he did, but Mark was confident in the knowledge that Simon would've probably done the same to him had he thought of it first. But now, hanging from this godforsaken wiring in Simon's Auntie's pub that was being turned into a brothel, Mark came to a conclusion that his love for his friends was fickle thing. Because he didn't love Franco at all. Maybe once, when they were young boys playing football in the school playground. But not anymore.  
  
He felt pressure around his legs, and knew, somehow, that it was Begbie. He could feel the warmth of arms, feel the breath warming his jeans. But it was distant, getting further away, his brain slowly dying from lack of oxygen. Simon. Spud. He loved them. They were his friends. Black spots were clouding his vision now, his hands losing their will to keep scrabbling. It hurts. He can't breathe. He always knew Franco was a fucking psychopath, but this is extreme. He may have been crazy, but Begbie is his friend. Was. Not anymore. As he hangs here, choking out his last few pitiful fucking breaths, Mark Renton realises something. He doesn't want to be Franco Begbie's friend. He wants to be Spud and Simon's friend. And, most importantly, he doesn't want to die. Not like this.  
  
And then, the warmth of Franco's breath and arms is gone, ripped from him all of a sudden. Someone calls his name he thinks, he's not sure, he can't breathe, he can't...  
"MARK!" Simon yells, grabbing his friends legs. "Mark, it's okay, Mark!" Mark was gasping, heaving, struggling for breath pitifully. Franco was down and out for the count right now, but that wouldn't last for long, Simon knew. He needed to get Mark down, now, before he died from asphyxiation. His friends legs kicked uselessly, hands scrabbling frantically before stopping, before starting again. Finally, he tugged hard enough, and Mark came crashing down. Simon lowered him down, clutching Mark's jacket as he coughed and sputtered and tried to get oxygen into his body. "Come on Mark, that's it. Come on, ya cunt, breathe! Fucking breathe!" Mark grabs for him, hands catching on Simon's thick coat. And Simon, well, he can't help himself. Mark's a cunt, and he robbed him of £16,000, but he was still Simon's best friend. And Simon, against his better judgement, loved the prick. His arms encircled Mark, clutching him close in a parody of a hug that they used to share when they were young lads.  
  
"Si-"  
"Shut it, ya daft cunt, catch ya breath first." That was Simon's way, Mark knew, of saying 'You're okay, breathe, I'm here'. The click of a shotgun caught their attention. Both men looked towards Franco, who was, not to their great surprise, holding a shot gun. "Crap." Mark muttered. Simon couldn't have put it better himself. But, if Franco was gunning for Mark, then he'd come after Simon next. At least, that was what he told himself as he grabbed his best friend - yes, the daft cunt was still his fucking best friend despite all the fucking shite that had happened - and pushed him too the side. "Si, no-" Mark whispered, voice hoarse, throat burning. Simon curled his body over Mark's and they both held their hands up in a strange parody of a surrender. "FRANCO!" Spud's yell and the thunk of him hitting Frank out cold make them look up from their submissive position.  
  
Mark's gasp of relief draws Simon's attention, and he grabs his friend close in a proper hug, this time. Mark is still trying to breathe properly, sucking in air as quick as he can. "Mark." Simon whispers, hearing Spud timidly approach them. He doesn't care. His friend - his lying, scheming, arsehole of a friend - is alive, and warm and safe in his arms. Mark hugs him back, chin resting against his best friend's - his first crush, dickhead, amazing best friend - shoulder, eyes closed as he takes in the feel of a physical comfort so long denied. And he feels Spud patting his shoulder, weird hitched breaths emitting from him, and Mark Renton realises something else. As he stands in this dilapidated pub, with one of his oldest friends rubbing his shoulder comfortingly and the other clutching him like he hasn't done since they were boys, Mark Renton realises that some friendships are fickle. But this one isn't.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know why I wrote this, but I hope all you readers enjoyed it nontheless. My first work for the Trainspotting fandom. Hopefully I'll do more soon.


End file.
